


we're just friends

by mxkeclemmings



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: :-(, Bullying, M/M, Sad, Short, harry is nice, idk - Freeform, michael doesn't have friends, michael gets beat up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 08:07:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5121104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxkeclemmings/pseuds/mxkeclemmings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael is sad and doesn't have friends but Harry wants to be his friend. Maybe more than friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're just friends

**Author's Note:**

> title from friends by ed sheer an lol  
> I wrote this for a short story unit in my english class so its short and it kinda sucks but hope you like it anyway :)

Harry studied the boy from across his english classroom. He had seen the boy in passing, maybe even bumped into him a couple of times in the busy hallways at school, but he never really payed attention. The boy sat with his shoulders raised to his ears and his head facing his desk, eyes scrunched up and lip twitching like he was holding in tears. The jock football players sitting a table in front of the boy were laughing at his fear, thriving off of the boy’s subservient mannerisms as they threw insults at him as if it was nothing.

Harry didn't know what to do; he was too scared to be the one to call the footballers out. Instead, he waited until the bell rang, waiting as the room cleared out and the boy began packing his things. 

“You shouldn't let them get to you like that. They’re too stupid to know how to act,” Harry spoke once the majority of the class had left. The boy looked up quickly, blonde fringe falling in his face as he glared at Harry. 

“Mind your own business,” came the reply. Harry startled back at the sharp tone of the boy’s voice, feeling guilty under the icy stare of the boy’s piercing green eyes. 

“I just was trying to help you,” Harry said softly.

“And I don’t need your help,” the boy spat, bony shoulder knocking into Harry’s on his way out of the classroom. 

***

The next time Harry saw the boy from english was a Monday. Harry had been rounding the science block outside, ready to drive home and get an early start on his homework. He was stopped in his tracks when he saw the boy.

His white blonde hair was tangled in his face, covering his eyes as he coughed wetly onto the concrete of the sidewalk. He was on all fours, forearms shaking wildly as he tried to keep himself upright. There was a small puddle of blood collecting where his seemingly broken nose was spewing blood. He coughed again, spitting up blood. 

Harry didn't say anything as he lifted the boy into his arms. He was lighter than he looked. The boy tangled his pale hand desperately into Harry’s shirt, knuckles torn and bruised. It look like he had tried to fight back. 

With the boy in his arms and the boy’s head resting over Harry’s rapidly beating heart, Harry meticulously mapped out the fastest route to the hospital. They reached his old red pick up and Harry laid the boy out gently into the back seat before quickly running around to his side, adjusting his mirror so he could watch the boy behind him. His fingers nervously tapped on the wheel as he started to drive. He didn't want the boy to die in his car. 

***

“I’m sorry about the other day,” came a quite voice behind Harry. He turned his head quickly, dark curls bouncing with his movement, coming face to face with the boy. Harry smiled.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m just glad you're ok,” Harry spoke softly. The boy’s cheeks were glowing with the intensity of his blush, eyes not meeting Harry’s.

“I haven’t even figured out your name yet, and I’m already your saving grace,” Harry laughed, his grin stretched widely across his face.

“It’s Michael,” the boy returned, the corners of his mouth turned upwards a tiny amount— not a smile, but good enough for Harry. 

***

“You don’t have to sit with me at lunch everyday, Harry,” Michael whispered, nudging Harry with his small hands from across their secluded table in the far reaches of the cafeteria. 

“You have friends. I’m not nearly as exciting as they probably are.” 

“That’s not true at all,” Harry nudged Michael back, fingers tapping lightly over his scarred knuckles. “I think you're great.”

“That’s not what everybody else says,” Michael says back, eyes darting quickly around the cafeteria as Harry plays with his hands, tan skin against Michael’s milky pale. 

“Yeah well I’m not everybody, Michael. I like you. I like hanging out with you.” 

Michael only nodded, staring at his small fingers being wrapped around Harry’s long and spidery ones and wondering what that meant. 

***

Michael and his mother had been sitting in silence for the entirety of their dinner, just the sound of silver wear scraping against the plates echoing around the kitchen. Michael was wary of his mother, her eyes were tired and her whole body seemed to sag, like she was a pile of skin drooping off of rigid bones. She worked too hard. 

He set down his fork and looked up at his mom, clearing his throat. 

“I think I’ve made a friend,” he said hesitantly, eyes searching his mother’s face for sign of emotion. Her face looked shocked for a moment before morphing into a small, hopeful smile. 

“That’s great, Mikey. What’s his name?”

“His name is Harry, mom. He’s nice.”

“Is that the one that brought you to the hospital?”

“Yeah.”

“I like him too then.” She said, and then the silence is back because Michael doesn't know what to say after that. 

***

Harry and Michael were trudging up the steps of Michael’s house, Michael holding his keys in shaky hands as he approached the lock. Harry was a steady presence behind him, his tall, lanky body practically vibrating with excitement, elated that he was finally going to see Michael’s room for the first time; Harry was weird like that. 

Ushering Harry in, Michael shut the door quietly, turning to face the still beaming boy behind him. 

“The stairs are over there,” He said, pointing in the direction. “I don’t get why your so excited.”

Harry said, “I like learning about you, Michael. This is part of getting to know you. Friends hang out at their friends’ houses.” 

Leading the way, Michael began the ascent to his room. Harry bounced excitedly behind him, feet loudly thumping up each step until they got to the landing, where Michael tugged Harry towards his door. The dark haired boy went right to it, flinging it open and rushing inside to get a good look. 

“This is exactly how I pictured it looking,” Harry breathed happily, staring at the band posters and the dark duvet and video game setup. Harry twirled around in circles, absorbing every inch of the room. Michael felt vulnerable. 

“You have a guitar?!” Harry yelled, face splitting with the width of his smile. “How could you not tell me you played? You have to play for me!” 

So, Michael grabbed his old acoustic from the corner and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for Harry to come join him before he began picking at the strings. 

The room was filled with the gentle sound of the guitar and Harry’s quiet humming and the pitter-patter of rain from outside, creating a symphony of comforting sounds. Harry put his head on Michael’s shoulders and they both ignored the way Michael’s fingers faltered on the strings. 

***

Michael was walking home from school, taking a short cut through an alleyway, shoes crunching on fallen leaves underneath his feet. He shivered as a breeze ran through his hair, mussing up the platinum blonde locks. Music was playing loudly through his earbuds, and he was completely blocked out of the world, not hearing the approaching footsteps behind him. 

Michael jumped when he felt a pair of hands grabbing his shoulder and shoving him up against the wall. Face shoved into the bricks and wrists behind his back, Michael couldn't move. He cried out when the person ground his cheek into the side of the building. 

“Where’s your boyfriend?” The person asked, Michael recognizing the voice as one of the bullies from school. 

“Get off of me,” Michael growled, struggling now against the grip. 

“You didn't answer the question, freak.” 

And then Michael’s head was being bashed into the wall, and his body was crumpling to the ground. It was all a blur of fists and kicks after that, Michael laying limp on the dirty concrete of the alleyway. His vision was hazy, but he remembered Harry next. 

He remembered seeing the bouncing curls and his thin, pink lips frantically yelling something at Michael. He remembered Harry dropping to his knees in front of him. He remembered Harry taking his battered face in his hands and kissing him. He remembered feeling loved for the first time, and he remembered knowing that it was all going to be ok.


End file.
